Dragonblood: War
by SheenWinning
Summary: Prequel to Dragonblood: The Return. Skyrim is about to be plunged into war by the turn of 4E 200. This is the beginning of Arminius Constantine's journey, and how he learns he is the Dragonborn. ImperialDB.
1. Intro Part 1

**This is a prequel to my unfinished story, **_**Dragonblood: The Return. **_**That story follows the events of the Dragonborn becoming the Emperor of Tamriel after Titus Mede II is assassinated. **

**This story follows the Dragonborn and other important characters in the Skyrim Civil War with how I wrote it. If you read whatever of **_**Dragonblood: The Return **_**has out, then you probably already know how this war will end. **

**However, I'm not really looking to sympathize or criminalize either side of the conflict; I just want to write a prequel that is canon with my original, and captures the stories of both sides of the war. So I trust that you all are mature enough to remain idle, and not start a random argument with me about Stormcloaks vs. Imperials. **

**I will also have another prequel, which will be a sequel to this one. It will follow the Dragonborn and his fight to stop the Dragons. **

**Well, enough chit-chat, time for the story.**

* * *

_4E 199 _

_My journey began with a war. _

A young man, dressed in heavy Imperial steel armor and an officer's helmet tucked under his arm, was walking calmly down a dirt and rock road that was shaded by the light fog that came from the high mountains of Jerall. He had skin short black hair, a face clean of facial hair, and a light muscle build on him.

_Of course, it wasn't a war at the time, but rather a scare. _

On his walk, the young man would listen to the sounds of nature, as he crossed the border from Cyrodiil into Skyrim.

_Twenty three years ago, before I was even born, there was a battle at the city of Markarth. During the Great War, the native Breton people had taken the city and claimed it to be their own. Their reign would go on for only two years until it went downhill for them. _

He smiled when he saw a rabbit run across the road, and a deer feeding off of a berry bush to the side.

_A young Jarl of Eastmarch had raised a militia and retaken the city through brute force. Eventually, the Empire came marching to the gates, asking that they would reclaim the city to the Empire as it once was. The young Jarl refused, and demanded that it would only happen if they allowed the worship of Talos again. _

The wind blew in his face, giving him a relaxing feel.

_The Empire couldn't do that, for it would jeopardize their peace with the ruthless Third Aldmeri Dominion. The Jarl was displeased, and every day he would kill surrendered Bretons, and tortured and raped natives so they could give up names of those who have fled. He even killed anyone who was a non-Nord to pressurize the Empire into agreeing with their terms. _

He came upon a forest of pine trees, which effectively colored the landscape.

_The Imperial force had to lie to them to get them to stop. Eventually, the young Jarl and his men were forced out of the city, and were imprisoned. All these years later, and he has returned to be the Jarl of Eastmarch. Tensions were now higher than ever. _

He had walked past a Khajiit caravan, and he had bought some things off of them. A canteen of water, a new blanket, and some rationed food.

_My name is Arminius Constantine. I am only eighteen years old, and I have traveled to the land of Skyrim as order of being assigned to the fourth legion. _

The young man kept on walking, sack over his shoulder, and drinking out of his canteen.

_I am fresh out of officer school; so for the young man I am, I am a Legate. Though I have proven myself to be very skillful with the sword and shield and defeated my peers in mock combat, I have never actually killed a living being. That part of the experience wouldn't escape me for long, as there may be another war on the Empire's hands. _

The Legate cast himself off to the side of the road, and sat on a rock, resting for a moment.

_What is to happen to me in this upcoming war? Where will I go? _

He took another sip out of his canteen.

_The story about the young Jarl and Markarth made me want to visit that place again..I could probably evade orders for a little while and visit there first. I wish to see what has become of it. _

He got up, putting away his canteen into his sack personal items, and continuing on. Eventually he reached a sign that pointed out direction for a fork in the road. The one pointing left said _Markarth, _and the other pointing right had said _Solitude. _

_I had heard that the city of Markarth was built in a mountain hundreds of years ago by the long extinct Dwemer. _

He thought long and hard about which direction he would take.

_I'm young, and I let my rebellious nature get the best of me._

He took the road going left, which would lead him to the ancient city of Markarth.

_Little did I know, it was one of my worst mistakes._

* * *

A young Nord girl, no older than 18, had just walked out of the famous Palace of the Kings. She had on a smile on her face, golden hair, brown eyes, and some blue robes that a healer would wear.

_Today was the day that I have chosen where my loyalties lay. I am now a healer for the upcoming Nordic Separatist Army, or to be known as the 'Stormcloaks.' _

She went off and talked with other Nords who had on a set of blue armor, which was very similar to hold guards. Some hit on her, some showed respect, and some even showed her tricks with their weaponry.

_I have never picked up a weapon in my life, and I am never planning on doing so. I only ever wanted to be a healer, to give life on the field where it needs it. _

She backed away with a chuckle on her face, denying another young Nord man who had offered her a pint of mead later that night.

_My name is Lilija; I am a daughter of the Snow-Shod family in Riften. When I heard that the Jarl of Eastmarch was raising an army to try and break free of the Empire's hold on Skyrim, I grew excited and left quickly to join. My father and mother were both happy to see me so eager to serve my people, but my older brother, Asgeir, felt different. It's strange, I have heard my brother call himself a proud Nord, but he refuses to serve under the proud Nord who is the Jarl of Eastmarch? Maybe my father, who was a veteran of the Great War, didn't appeal to him as much as he did me. Or maybe it was that Imperial woman he was seeing. _

The young healer had made her way out of the snow covered court yard, and into the slums known as the 'Gray Quarter.' She walked through it, noticing all the dark elves that were going about their business. Some were talking to each other, and others were sick and on the ground, coughing their lungs out. She didn't know why she decided to go through there. The buildings were damn near falling apart, the Dunmer there were sick, and they were living off of minimum wage and high taxes.

_Coming here, I sometimes wonder what my brother really thought. In Riften, we were used to having many different races minding their own business, without an inch of a dystopia at their hands. Windhelm was a very different story, however. Seeing all these dark elves being forced weight upon, being segregated and having to live in these conditions; all under the order of the Jarl of Eastmarch. _

She observed a scuffle going on, where a young dark elf girl was being harassed by several town guards.

"Please, I don't have the septims to pay to the Jarl!" She begged, desperately holding onto her basket of personal belongings. One of the guards, a big gruff man with his face covered by a helmet, had pushed her back.

"What do you mean, you don't have the septims?!" he yelled at her, using his strong hands to forcefully push her back. As she was forced back, another guard behind her caught her and forced her forward. The third guard, who was smaller than the other two, had chuckled.

"Please," she said. The first guard knocked the basket out of her hand, and it hit the floor with the contents spilling out of it. The guard behind her knocked her down on her face. Her face squinted at the pain, and her tightly shut eyes formed tears out of them. The three guards laughed and left her lying in the mud, crying.

Lilija could only watch, for if she tried to help her, she could be shunned by her other Nord brothers. It really bothered her to see this kind of abuse, even if it wasn't one of her kind.

_Maybe when this war is over, I could come here to try and make their lives better, if we don't already force them out of Skyrim by then. Was this what my brother saw in the newly rising Stormcloaks? Is that why he never wanted to join?_

* * *

**So I introduced a couple of characters. A couple more will be coming the next chapter, so stay tuned. **


	2. Into Part 2

"General Tullius!" Came a Legionnaire at the door, saluting. He sounded out of breath, like he was in a rush. The old gray haired Imperial commander turned.

"What is it, Auxiliary?" He replied, turning to him. The Legionnaire caught his breath and spoke up.

"We found another transport carriage," he explained. "There were three dead, and the carriage was looted." The General sighed.

"Get another unit to recover the carriage," he ordered.

"Yes sir," the Legionnaire saluted, and then walked out. General Tullius ran his hand through his hair, and lazily walked over to the map of Skyrim that was hanging outstretched on the wall, ignoring the look he was getting from the female Nord Legate that was in the room with him. Tullius put his hands behind his back and stood at ease, his eyes skimming over the drawn landscape of the map.

_Sometimes I get sick of this job. I have been at it for five years now, and all these Nords keep raising Oblivion. This was the sixth report of a carriage being attacked by the gods know what, and we haven't been able to dim it down. Maybe it was bandits, or maybe it was that Jarl of Eastmarch everybody is talking about now-a -days. _

His tired eyes fell upon the section that said _Eastmarch, _then closer at the small image of a bear, and above it, it said _Windhelm. _

_I heard of his story, and what happened at Markarth all those years ago. But I don't have the evidence to prove he has gone rogue. _

His eyes had focused on the bear symbol, and examined at how fierce it looked.

_From what I know, he was a veteran from the Great War who served under General Jonna. We can both relate then; I was just a young Auxiliary at the time, and I was at the Battle of the Red Ring. My Legion was the one that led the frontal assault on the Imperial City with the Emperor. _

"General Tullius," He heard the female Nord Legate speak to him.

"What is it, Rikke?" He replied, not taking his eyes off of the map.

"Perhaps we should send scouts out through each of the holds," She said. "To try and figure out what is going on."

"Get to it, Legate," he ordered. Rikke nodded, and then walked out.

_Legate Rikke fought alongside the Jarl of Eastmarch at one point, during the Great War. After all these years, and she is still in the Legion. Maybe I could quit this job and give the command to her; but the Elder Council assigned me to do it. Besides, the highest rank I could give someone is Legate; the rank of General is decided by the Elder Council, or Officer's school._

* * *

In the training yard, there was a Legate in full armor and was conducting a training session for unit tactics to a group of about thirty Auxiliaries of different human races.

"Remember, Legionnaires," he said to them, his voice commending. "The key to being in a unit is to maintain formation and not break it." He lifted a wooden whistle up to his mouth as he walked back and forth along the first rank. He blew the whistle once, and the first rank of Auxiliaries simultaneously raised their shields to cover themselves. They would then draw their swords and stick it out on the side of their shield. The Legate saw most of their forms as lazy, except one Nord who was maintaining his posture quite well. The Legate marched over to the Nord Auxiliary.

"Look at you, Hadvar," The Legate said, a smile on his face. ""Perfect posture and fierce sword handling." The Legate continued to walk down the rank, looking each one of his Auxiliaries in the eye.

"Look at Auxiliary Hadvar," the group, including the ones behind the first rank, turned their heads to see Hadvar in his stance. "Take note of him and how he holds his shield high, and his weapon ready to strike."

_Talos knows why I decided to join the Legion several years ago. This training session was really only for review, to make ready for a possible war ahead. The other Auxiliaries barely knew how to position themselves, but hopefully the Legate can straighten them out. _

Hadvar heard another whistle, and he stepped to the side, allowing the next man behind him to get in front while he slid down the row to the back. This kind of tactic would give each rank a chance to fight, and each of them to cool down if the situation wasn't dire.

_I think of my home in Riverwood and how safe my uncle, aunt, and cousin are there; they are the only family I have left. I sometimes think of my friend Ralof, but then I remember that he said something about more important business that he needed to attend to and left. _

The other Auxiliaries from the second rank tried to imitate Hadvar, but they really were no different than the others from the first rank. They repeated this process, the Legate blowing the whistle each time and the next rank would move to the front. Eventually it got back to Hadvar's rank, and the Legate ordered them to halt, and blew the whistle. The whole group lowered their shields to their sides, sheathed their swords and stood at attention.

"We'll take a ten minute break, and then we'll work on using Pilums," The Legate said. The Auxiliaries went about their business, but the Legate approached Hadvar.

"The General wanted to see you after this training session," he said. Hadvar was wondering what for.

* * *

A Nord man, dressed in the same blue armor as the rest of his comrades, was helping pitching up a tent somewhere in a snowy area. After putting up the post, he looked over and saw a huge gruff man in leg armor and bears skin. He was nearly balding, and his face had a nappy beard.

_All I wanted was for my people to be free, to worship Talos again. But I never wanted to prepare for a war, nevertheless kill anyone. But if it's what the Jarl of Eastmarch says we should do, then I will. _

The armored man began carrying crates inside the tent, each of them full of small plastic flag pieces of red and blue, along with a map of Skyrim.

_We were to wait and see what the Jarl would do, and at this point it's a mystery. _

When he was done, he stepped over to the edge of the camp to get a good look at the surroundings. They were located near a Giant's camp, Blizzard Rest it was called. With where they were positioned, he could make out the very tip of Dragonsreach in the distance, but barely.

_The Jarl of Whiterun had responsibility over my hometown of Riverwood, and I'd hate for this oncoming war to affect that. How selfish of me, we're about to fight in a potential war, and I might go against my hometown. _


	3. Sequence 1: Chapter 1

The rocky mountains of the reach were covered in dense mysterious fog, much like most of Skyrim. As Arminius walked along the stone and dirt path, he would occasionally see out of the corner of his eye, human like figures springing through the fog. Arminius would only think of these encounters as just spririts, or things he was seeing. At one point, he thought he saw a figure wearing deer antlers and skin. Arminius wondered what was in the dense fog, but again, he passed it off as nothing more than his mind playing tricks on him or just a deer.

Eventually, through the thick, he made out tall stone structures with carved patterns in it, and tips of buildings beyond it. It was all placed within the side of a mountain, and a waterfall could be heard from it.

"Wow," he let out, admiring the structure that it held for all these years. On the outside, he saw stable horses, and several men working around it, feeding the animals inside. Two guards were stationed on both sides of the large door made of a special resource known as Dwarven Metal. Arminius approached the door, but was halted by a guard.

"Stop right there, Imperial," the guard demanded, his thick Nordic accent commending. Arminius stopped, and listened to what the guard had to say. "What is your business here?"

"I'm just visiting," Arminius replied. "I'm from Cyrodiil you see? I wanted to have a look at Markarth." The guard crossed his arms, and despite his face being hidden by his helmet, Arminius could make out that he was displeased.

"If you're looking to go through, you will need to pay a tax," The guard said. "About two hundred gold would do." Arminius couldn't believe this; in Cyrodiil, nobody had to pay for entrance into a city.

"Is this how it is around here?" Arminius asked.

"Nothing in this world is for free," The guard replied. Arminius decided that he had had enough.

"This is obviously a shakedown," Arminius said to him loudly. "Stop trying to take people's gold." The guard broke out a nervous sweat.

"Keep your voice down," he said, trying to remain a whisper. "Fine, you can go in; just don't cause any trouble." Arminius smiled in victory, and went ahead.

"Thank you."

As the gate behind him closed, he made out the vast array of rocky buildings with carved designs into them, fit with Dwarven metal doors on the front. He observed the streets; the first thing being a street market, with fresh meat and vegetables, along with a jewelry stand. People and guards were moving about, some who were walking on platforms on a higher level, and some way up in the towers.

_Clearly the work of the long and extinct Dwarves; this city alone could've been a kingdom capital. _

As he looked around, his smile faded when he noticed a man pull out a dagger from his shirt, and approach behind a girl in a ragged dress. Arminius stepped forward and reached out to him, knowing something bad was going to happen.

"Hey hey hey, what are you doing?!" He yelled to him, but the man ignored and grabbed the girl in a choke hold. She began to scream, and Arminius, with his instinct, drew his Imperial sword and lunged quickly at him. The man plunged his dagger into her back, making her let out a dry yelp, until Arminius had driven the Imperial sword through the man's spine, killing him immediately.

The crowd was taken back; many were screaming and yelling in fear when they saw the two thud to the ground. Arminius noticed that the woman that was attacked and stabbed was still breathing and she was bleeding heavily out of her wound. He quickly knelt down to her, holding her up in his arms and applying pressure to the wound.

She winced at the pain, and blood started to drip down out the corner of her mouth.

"Stay with me," he begged. "You're going to be okay." He looked up to see people staring in horror, and guards rushing to his aid. "Dammit, somebody get a healer!" He yelled at them, and then looked back down at the girl. He could see it in her eyes as she stared back, the only thing she could feel was the pain, and how much life she had left.

_The first time I had to deal with death, and I could feel just how powerful it really was. _

A priestess from the local temple had rushed by with several citizens, and sliding down to Arminius' side. She pushed him out of the way, and had several of the other citizen's help in picking her up and carrying her off to the temple, drops of blood being left in a trail.

Arminius looked on and ran a hand through his short hair, breathing heavily; his armor was now stained with the girl's blood, and his hands leaving marks of red in his hair. He looked back down at the man he had killed, and thought on what just happened. He knew that in what's to come, in his line of work, he'll have to get used to it, being around death.

He shakily picked up his sword; the front half covered in red, and briskly made his way over to one of the running streams in the area. He washed it off, then his hands and cupped some water and threw some on his head. He stood back up and sighed, sheathing the now clean sword, and looked around to see the guards picking up the body of the man and moving it.

"Excuse me," Came a voice from behind him, he turned to see who it was. A young man, Breton, and had some weird face paint on him, held a note in his hand. "I think you dropped this."

"I wasn't carrying paper," Arminius replied. The Breton shoved it into his hands.

"No, no, you dropped it, I saw you," The Breton said. "Well, I best be off then." He walked off.

Confused, Arminius watched him go off, then opened the sealed letter.

_Meet me at the Shrine of Talos_

* * *

Hadvar walked into the Castle Dour, and into the war room he went. He saw Tullius staring at the map of Skyrim, and decided now was a good time to speak up. He cleared his throat.

"General Tullius," he said, saluting calmly. The gray haired imperial commander turned and stiffened his stance.

"Hadvar," he acknowledged. "I'm glad you are here. I've seen your dedication, and I must say that I'm impressed."

"Thank you sir," Hadvar replied.

"Therefore I would like to raise you in rank, not to Quaestor, but to Tribune," Tullius said. Hadvar gulped and remained silent.

_So I jump all the way from Auxiliary to Tribune? Was it even possible on Tullius' part to skip promoting me? _

"Sir," Hadvar said. "If I may, I ask why the sudden jump to Tribune, and why not just Quaestor?"

"Because you are one of my finest soldiers in the fourth," Tullius replied. "I would make you a Legate, but I feel you would need to attend officer's school to do so."

"It's an honor sir," Hadvar said, not wanting to carry the conversation on any longer.

"Now speak to the Blacksmith about replacing your light armor for some heavy," Tullius said. "Then I'll be assigning your Cohort to Hill Forty. I'm looking to stack up units ahead of time; there may be a war coming."

"I'm aware of that, sir," Hadvar said.

"Now get to it."

_Hill Forty was a hill just north of Whiterun, next to the northern watchtower. It overlooked the main road going into Eastmarch, and was relatively steep; perfect for archers and artillery to be stationed. For anybody to be able to take it when occupied would be at a major cost. _


	4. Chapter 2

Arminius walked into the darkened stone room. There was a passage that leads to the middle of the room, which held a shrine and statue of Talos, and was surrounded by pillars on four corners. On the first corner to the right, Arminius saw the Breton man with the weird face paint backed up against the wall, arms crossed.

"That attack in the market…" He spoke. "I'm sorry to drag you into Markarth's problems, but I'm running out of time." The Breton looked closer to him and arched his head to the side. "You're an outsider…dangerous looking maybe…you'll do."

"What do you mean, I'll do?" Arminius asked, getting the creeps from this Breton man.

"Don't you want answers?" He said, raising his voice. "So do I and everyone else is this city!" He started to pace back and forth. "A man goes crazy in the market. Everyone knows he's a forsworn agent. Guards do nothing; nothing but clean up the mess!"

"The Forsworn?" Arminius questioned. The Breton stopped, and looked at him like he was mad.

"You've never heard of the Forsworn?" He came up and grasped at Arminius' shoulder plates. "They were the Reachmen here so many years ago, until they were driven from Markarth. Now they are out for blood in Markarth!" Arminius pushed him off, but he continued. "All these years and I have never been able to figure out why the guards do nothing."

"Get to the point," Arminius said. "What are you asking of me?"

"Please, find out why that woman was attacked, who's behind Weylin and the forsworn, and I'll pay you for any information you bring me." Arminius stood there pondering.

_I was raised to be a good Samaritan, and now those limits were being tested. He said that the Forsworn and 'Weylin' have been terrorizing this city for years; what's an Imperial soldier going to do? _

"Fine," Arminius said, even though reluctant on answering. But first he needed what this man already knew. "What do you know of that girl that was attacked?"

"She's an outsider, everyone here could smell it," he replied. "You should see her at the Temple of Dibella, that's where they usually take injured or sick."

"What about that man that tried to kill her? Weylin, was it?"

"Yes, Weylin; he was one of the smelter workers. I used to have a job down there myself, casting silver ingots. I never knew much about Weylin, except that he lives in the Warrens, like every worker."

"What are the Warrens?"

"A place where the sick and poor live. It's a complete filth hole."

"I'll get to it, just make sure that coin is ready."

_I was too young to be getting into something as reckless as an investigation on a conspiracy. In fact, I should've left that city then and reported to General Tullius; but something about me made me stay and face the danger of this 'Forsworn.' Plus, I felt that a little extra gold wouldn't do harm._

* * *

Arminius walked into the calming environment of the Temple of Dibella. There was a structure erected in the middle; four sides with steps and in the very middle a bowl with some glowing water in it. On four corners, there were golden colored Dibella statues, each outlining her feminine form.

A priestess walked up to him.

"Excuse me," She said. "What are you doing here in the Temple of Dibella?"

"There was a woman who was stabbed," Arminius said. "I'm here to see her; is she okay?"

"So it was you who saved her?" The priestess said. "The wound would've been way worse if you haven't stepped along; our healing was able to mend the muscle, bone and the lung back together along with replenishing her blood levels. It will leave a scar though, and it will hurt for the next week or so."

"Good, good," Arminius looked around. "Where is she?" The priestess pointed to the area behind him. He turned in the direction and saw her lying on a thin bed, her chest area wrapped in bandaging, and just from her back side, he saw the red splotch on it.

"Make sure she doesn't move very much, or she might open up the wound again," The Priestess said.

Arminius nodded to her, "Thank you," then approached the lying form of the girl. He looked over her for one second, her eyes opening slowly to his shadow over her. She was of Nordic decent, but her essence felt something along the lines of Cyrodiil. He knelt down to her level and spoke to her softly.

"Hey," he said. "Are you okay?" She blinked.

"It hurts," She said, in an equally soft voice, "But I'll be okay. Thank you for saving my life."

"What's your name?" He asked.

"Margaret," she replied.

"Margaret," he repeated. "Lovely name; where are you from?"

"From Cyrodiil, I was going to buy this for my sister to take back to her," she held up an amulet, made out of silver and a sapphire in the middle. "But I think you should have it, as a token of my gratitude." She held it out to him, and reluctantly he took it and put it around his neck for the time being.

"Thank you, it's very nice," he said, Margaret smiling warmly. "I hate to press more questions but, do you know why that man attacked you?" She shook her head no. "Did you know who he was, or that he was part of the Forsworn?" She shook her head no again.

_My first day hearing of the Forsworn and they already have a bad reputation for murder and attempted murder. I probably wouldn't have thought of them as human, or Mer, but maybe as a spawn of Draemora disguised as mortals. Margaret has never heard of this before, and so she fell victim to it_

"That's okay," He said, standing up. "I'll let you rest." He turned to walk off but was stopped suddenly.

"Wait," she called. He turned to her with a raised eyebrow and approached her again, going back down to her level. "You're an Imperial soldier, right?"

"Yes."

"Then I should just come clean then," she said. "I was sent here by General Tullius as an undercover operative to investigate the Silver-Blood family and their involvement with this Forsworn."

"You're an operative?" He asked, surprised. "I wouldn't have guessed; maybe you could help me out."

"I'm not supposed to tell anyone, not even other Imperial soldiers, but I don't really look fit to continue my investigation," she held out a key. "I was able to pickpocket this key from Weylin so I can enter his room in the Warrens and try to find any evidence of his involvement; that's probably why he attacked me." Arminius took the key and looked down at it. "Now that he's out of the way, you should search his room."

"Thanks."

* * *

The Warrens was almost like a trash dump. There was debris everywhere, chunks of the wall on the ground and such. The lighting provided came from several camp fires out of waste on the ground.

Arminius approached a man in ragged clothing and who was backed up against the wall. He turned and looked at him, his face growing grim.

"The Warrens isn't a place for your type, Imperial," he said. "What do you want?"

"Did you know Weylin?" Arminius asked. The man's face lightened.

"Oh yes, I know everyone who lives down in the Warrens; kind of the one who passes the keys around."

"Where is his room?" The man pointed down to the very end of the hall.

"Last door on the right." He answered.

"Thank you," and Arminius went down. He passed a sick woman who was holding her stomach on the ground.

_What's with this place? Not even Cyrodiil had a low class that lived this badly; at least not where they are battered down and sick. It makes me wonder about this Silver-Blood family. _

He reached the door, like the rest it was made out of Dwarven metal, and had carvings and designs that had the Dwemer properties. He found the key hold and used the key to unlock it, then put force into pushing the door open. The door was being slowed down by a patch of dirt at the bottom of the door, but his training in the Legion had helped him push through it. He slid in, and looked around; a bed in place, a light on the night-stand, the floor was just the same dirt with the chunks of stone all over it. In the corner on his left, he saw a chest and thought that this was the best place to look. He opened it and searched through it, retrieving a piece of paper that was folded and the sticky patch to hold it together was torn.

He opened it up and read what it said.

_Weylin_

_You have been chosen to strike fear into the hearts of the Nords. Go to the market tomorrow. You will know what to do. _

_~N_

_Weylin was definitely caught up in something; this letter proved it no doubt. But who is this 'N'?_

* * *

When he walked out, he was confronted by a brute looking mercenary with an awkward haircut.

"You've been digging around where you don't belong," he began to approach him. Arminius back up with his hands in front of him.

"Woah, hold on," he said. The man, for some reason, held on for a second, while Arminius got his chest plate armor off down to just his tunic. He then raised his fists in front of him.

"Okay tough guy," he said, "Let's see what you can do." The man laughed at him, he was smaller and he didn't even have his armor. He went at him, swinging a punch.

_The one thing that advanced training in the Legion gives me is how best to fight an opponent when out of formation; but that was taught with weapons. Here I am with my bare hands trying to take on a guy twice my size. Good thing, the training can be applied to both armed and unarmed, and even for my young age, I've been in a few bar fights. _

Arminius ducked; dodging the attack, then dodged several more.

"Take it like a man!" The brute yelled, trying to land a harder punch. Arminius dodged again, this time using his lightweight to roll behind him and give him a quick jab at the bend of his leg. The punch brought him down to his knee, and the man pounded the ground in frustration.

"You son of a…" He shot back up, trying to give yet another punch at him. The scuffle now drew a crowd of people beckoning either side on how to fight.

_The most important thing that a lightweight like me is to avoid each attack, taking some light punches at him along the way. Eventually he'll wear himself out, and I can go in for some hard punches. _

Eventually, the man threw one final punch before bending over and holding himself at his knees, panting heavily. Arminius went in for several side swipes to the face, his head getting knocked back and forth with each hit. He even delivered some blows to the stomach region before using his knee to uppercut the man in the face. He knocked back, flying back first to the ground.

The now grounded man groaned, rubbing his face as he dizzied. The crowd that was drawn around him now we're talking about the surprising victory.

"Do you believe that? An Imperial kid just took down Dryston!" he heard someone say. Arminius caught his breath, and walked over to pick up his armor and put it back on quickly. Dryston, as the people called him, was still on the ground dizzy.

_We Imperials may look weak, but if it's necessary, we can sure pack a punch. _

Arminius knelt down to him.

"Alright Mohawk," he said, bringing out the sarcastic wit that he doesn't normally show. "Tell me who sent you." Dryston groaned again, ribbing his eyes.

"It was uhh…Nepos…Nepos the Nose, you…milk drinker…" he said. Arminius chuckled at him talking.

"Well it doesn't really seem like you're in a position to be making insults to me like that," Arminius said. "Oh and milk is pretty good, though I do prefer mead."

"…Fuck you…" Dryston said. Arminius nodded, a grin on his face.

"Okay then," he said, patting Dryston on the cheek mockingly. "Thanks for the help."

* * *

Arminius had asked around for Nepos' house, and he was lead to one of the doors that were one one of the higher levels. He decided that knocking would be pretty useless for a Dwarven Metal door, so he pushed it open and walked in, shutting it behind him. He was approached by a pretty young Nord or Breton girl who had displeasure on her face.

"Excuse me," she said. "What's your business here?"

"I'm here to see Nepos," Arminius replied. "I was told that he lives here." She crossed her arms.

"We haven't been expecting you and the old man needs his rest. Come back some other time." Suddenly, a voice, old and worn, called from around the corner.

"Wait," it said. "It's okay my dear, send him in." The girl scoffed.

"Yes, Nepos," she said, moving out of Arminius' way. "You heard him, go on in." He turned the corner to see an old man reading a book in front of a fire place. When he approached him, he noticed why he was named 'The Nose,' because of how big and pointy his nose was. Arminius had to contain his laughter.

"I'm sorry about my housekeeper," he said. "She's a little protective of me. Now what is it you want?" Arminius grew serious again.

"I know about Weylin," he said. The old man turned the page.

"Ah yes, you've proven to be a real bloodhound. Well, you've sniffed me out," He closed the book and looked directly into the fire. "I've been playing this game for almost twenty years; sending the young to their deaths, all in the name of the Forsworn. And I'm tired, so tired." Arminius stepped closer to him.

"Why?" He asked.

"Because my king told me to; Madanach. When the uprising fell at the hands of the Nords, they threw him in the mines." Nepos looked up at him. "I don't know how, but he lives. I get his messages, and I hand out his orders without question."

"Why are you telling me all this?" Nepos laughed lightly.

"My dear boy, what makes you think you're getting out of here alive?" Arminius stepped back for a second, surprised at the threat. "The girl at the door is a Forsworn agent masquerading as a maid." Arminius looked up to see that the girl he met a little bit ago was standing there and staring at him creepily; the two other 'maids', had joined beside her. "You're not the first one to have gotten this far, you won't be the last." He got up with them, and they all began to approach him slowly.

Arminius, laughing nervously, backed up to the wall with his hands raised.

"Hey hey, can't we just work this out? Have a nice, healthy conversation over some mead and I can agree never to speak about this with anyone? I mean I don't even need to be here, I need to report to General Tullius and all…" The moment he felt a pot on the table behind him, he grabbed for the edge and flung it at them. "Have a treat, asswipes." He immediately turned and delivered a hard punch directly to Nepos, breaking his big ugly nose and knocking him out. He immediately grabbed Nepos' fallen form and pushed him into the other three who had now fallen over.

Arminius then flung the chair that Nepos was sitting in at them, then a couple of pieces of firewood, tipped over a barrel, and swung himself behind them, sliding across the table and knocking several things over in time to dodge the magic attacks they had gotten off. He hid behind the table, and would throw over some more stuff at them. He drew his sword when one of them came over and tried to swipe at him. He blocked, swatting away the attack and driving his sword straight into his chest.

He then used him as a meat shield and pushed his way over to the other two, where he kicked them off and again threw him into the others. He sliced at the girl's leg, and then once at the other man's throat. The girl fell to the floor holding her leg, in crying out in pain, and the other man's neck squirted blood and fell to the floor dead. Arminius, in a fit of anger, used his armored foot to finish off the girl, stomping her face down to the stone floor.

He panted, and stopped to look at the mess he had made.

"Shit…" he said. "I did that, I killed them."

_It was self-defense of course, but I had killed them in such a brutal way. _

Arminius looked down and saw that he had blood on him, which would be a scary sight when coming out of the house and into the street. He found a cloth and wiped himself off.

"I should tell that man what I had found and get out of here," he said to himself.

* * *

He eventually made his way to the Shrine of Talos again, but found that the Breton wasn't in there. Instead there were three guards, and they drew their swords.

"Hey hey, what happened to the stuff I left here? My shield, my canteen, my sack?" He said loudly.

"You just had to go and cause so much trouble," he said. Arminius looked at him in confusion. "Now we have to pin all these recent murders on you, silence witnesses, work work work."

"Wait a minute," Arminius said. "What did you do to that one guy?"

"Same thing we do to all the other natives who want to change things around here," the guard said. "We had a nice little deal going between Thonar and Madanach until you and Eltrys started snooping around." The guards approached him, Arminius backing up until he ran into the chest of another large guard. "Well, you wanted to find the man responsible for those killings? You'll have plenty of time with the king in rags when you're in Cidhna mine."

"I'm under arrest?!" Arminius yelled, as the guard behind him forced him to the ground and tightly binded his hands behind his back. "Gyah! Don't tie it so hard!" He was pulled back up, and the other guards stripped the sword and its sheath off of him. "Hey I need that in good condition, don't scratch it!"

"Shut up, Imperial."

* * *

At one point, Arminius found himself in ragged clothing; the kind that prisoners would wear. He was going through a checkpoint, where he was facing an Orc woman in Steel armor.

"All right prisoner, eyes front!" She said. "You're in Cidhna Mine now, and we expect you to earn your keep. There's no resting your hide in a cell in this prison. Here you work; you'll mine ore until you start puking up silver bars. You got it!?" Arminius chuckled a little.

"I'm sorry, I'm a little deaf in this ear," She answered him with a powerful punch to the stomach, sending him to the ground. He groaned badly, feeling upchuck rising to his throat. She grabbed the back of his head and dragged him to the gate leading into the mining area.

"Open her up!" She called to the guard. The iron bar gate suddenly opened and she threw him inside, shutting the door behind him as he lay there. He eventually got up on all four and puked on the wood.

_Now I was in Cidhna mine, and I would remain here for the next six months. The 'debt' that I had to pay off was just them saying that I will be out soon, but in reality they weren't at all planning on letting anyone of us out._

* * *

**Pretty long chapter, but I had fun writing it. I'll be doing more of Arminius in prison in the next chapter and everything that happens during it. **

**Don't forget to read, review, subscribe, and favorite. **


	5. Chapter 3

Arminius spent the next couple of days doing literally nothing but lay up against a rock. There was this ginormous orc that was hammering down on the wall with his third pickaxe, and he looked over at Arminius' lazy form and yelled at him.

"Hey!" He said. "Why don't you get your lazy ass up and work off your debt!"

"Oh let it go, Borkul," a man sitting crisscross on the ground said. "You and I both know were never getting out of here." Borkul grunted and picked up a new pickaxe to keep picking against the wall. "So what are you in for, newblood?" the man asked. Arminius turned himself over.

"I'm innocent for the most part," Arminius replied. The man smiled.

"I was too, for the first one. The other murders we're all me though. Just to pass the time, I suggest picking up a pickaxe and mining before someone decided to take a shiv to you."

"Why not?" Arminius said, pushing himself up. He picked up one of the pickaxes and went next to Borkul. "So…how do I do this? Do I just…hit the wall with it?" Borkul only glared at him, and Arminius just shrugged and went to hitting the wall with the pickaxe.

The crunching of the rocks and the ding of the metal, and Arminius might go crazy. Eventually he saw a little piece of silver ore cracked off into the ground. He picked it up and dusted it off, taking a good look at it.

"Looks like I got one," He said smiling, holding it up to Borkul. Borkul continued to glare at him, and then Arminius noticed the large bucket next to him which was full of silver ore. "Looks like I have some catching up to do."

Borkul pushed him away from him, Arminius tripping on a rock and falling down on his back. Arminius got up and sighed, going away to the other part of the mine.

* * *

Arminius had a bucket of silver ore of his own after the next week. The repetitive dinging of the pickaxe and the dusty rocks falling from the ceiling could've driven him crazy by now, but it didn't. For meals, the guards would throw down a couple pieces of meat at least once a day, and it was scarce. The prisoners would have to rush for each piece, sometimes fight each other for it. When Arminius was hungry and he saw a piece of meat in the ground, he had to fight a reachman for it. Duach was his name, and he was rather threatening; but Duach had given Arminius a good punch and he was down.

Especially since they work in the same area as each other, things were particularly awkward.

Arminius was lucky he didn't get a shiv to him; he remembered once seeing someone who was newer than him get his throat slit with a shiv for taking some skooma from someone. Even after that week, it was relentless and he didn't think he could make it.

The longer the time passed, and Arminius eventually had to make some friends. Without people to back him up down there, he could be in serious danger. When he talked to several of the other prisoners, he learned that they were all Reachmen of some sort and that they all had a mutual respect for each other.

When proving himself to them, Arminius joined in with them, gaining their respect for the time being.

He heard their stories, and how sad they were. They all shared bitter resentment towards the Nords for the way they have been mistreated. But who could blame the Nords? The Reachmen were the ones killing innocents.

* * *

Braig was a man with the saddest story. He and Arminius were rested up against the rocky wall, they rocks shearing into their backs, but at this point they were used to it.

"Tell me you're story first," Braig said. Arminius nodded.

"Well I was adopted and I grew up on a farm," Arminius said. "This is the first time I have ever been put in jail."

"I see," Braig said. "What did you do for a living?"

"I'm a Legionnaire, or was…until I came to this damn city," Arminius replied. "At this point, I don't know if I'm ever going to get out of here and return." Arminius scoffed. "Here, I was thinking a trip to Skyrim would be wonderful, and it's only full of crazy corrupt guards and people trying to kill me."

"What about your family?"

"I have my parents, but they're back in Cyrodiil," Arminius said. "What about you?" Braig's face went sorrowful for the moment.

"I had a daughter…" He said, his voice shaky. Arminius looked at him blankly. "She would've been 23 by now."

"Would've been?"

"I don't like to talk about it."

* * *

When they all called it a day, they would go and find their own place to rest. Arminius sat with Uraccen by the campfire, and after he had gone to sleep, Arminius would look at the barred gate that leads somewhere further into the mine. He did that almost every night.

He knew what was there on the other side: Madanach.

Why hasn't he gone to him yet? A side of him believed that actually working would get him out, but he knew it wouldn't. The king in rags has been able to sneak out orders to people somehow, and he wondered if there was ever a way to escape that way.

* * *

The weeks had turned into months, and by the end of his second month, Arminius was losing it. His facial hair was now thickening into a short beard and his once skin short hair was now a little longer, scruffier and greasier. He had by now collected several wagons full of Silver Ore; he had gotten pretty good at mining. He would stare blankly with bloodshot eyes into the rocks, hearing the echo of his pickaxe. He was hungry, and dehydrated most of the time considering the guards barely ever brought water to them.

_For months I haven't seen the sun, and all I could hear were the echoes of the pickaxe and the rocks. So many damn rocks, so much ringing. _

He eventually just stood there, looking into space with his mouth hanging open. Grisvar the Unlucky noticed him while he was working and waved his hand in front of his face.

"Hello?" He called. Arminius wasn't responding, and some drool hung out the side of his mouth. "Hello?" He repeated. Duach came beside him.

"Goodness gracious, Arminius has lost it," He said. "Come on, lay him down." They both moved Arminius and gently laid him on the ground. "He needs some water, go and get some from our reserve," Duach ordered Grisvar. When they gave him water, Arminius snapped back to reality.

_I was a trained soldier, and I couldn't handle this?_

* * *

Arminius lay down on the ground, looking at the wall without emotion; just pure hopelessness.

"Today is the new year," Uraccen said, carrying a wooden box. He rested a bottle of mead next to him. "Happy 4E 200. The mead was smuggled in by a friend of mine and that rarely happens, so it's best you drink up now before Borkul decides to get himself drunk."

Arminius, keeping his same emotionless face, turned over and sat up. He grabbed the mead and looked at it.

_That was the first time I ever really had mead, then it kind of went with me. I kept drinking it after a while because it reminded me of giving me hope in the prison. Of course I've had other drinks before, some regular Ale, beer and wine; but Mead was better for me at that moment, and it was my first time having it. _

Arminius slowly opened the bottle and gently sipped some. Letting it settle, he decided to take some more sips and then eventually chugs. The taste was delicious, considering that this was the first drink he's had besides some muddy water.

The first words that he's uttered in a week since his breakdown: "Thank you."

* * *

He was now nineteen, his birthday long since passed, and now it was the year 4E 200. He gained his mental stability back for a little bit of time, his facial hair now even thicker and hair even shaggier. He hadn't bathed since he'd gotten in there, and it was now his fourth month.

He was continuing his mining work since it was the only damn thing left to do until the giant Orc, Borkul, came up to him.

"The King wants to speak with you," he said. Arminius paused and looked at him questioningly.

"We have a king?" Arminius said before realizing. "Oh…right, I forgot that King Madanach was in here."

"I suggest you get to it, you don't want to keep him waiting."

* * *

_This was the day that I make my mark. I built an army, made my plans, and I have answered the people's call. _

An old Nordic man in a unique set of thick clothing had ridden his horse up through the region of Haafingar. His blondish hair went down to his neck, and his face looks like he has aged.

_Today the Nord's cries for freedom will be heard._

He saw the silhouette of a city on a cliff through the fog and trees.

_On this day, I avenge Skyrim._

* * *

**Looks like the War is knocking on Skyrim's door. Be sure to read and review. **


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